The Choice
by Coriandra
Summary: When Frodo finds himself faced with the choice of life and death after his stabbing at Weathertop, a memory from the past helps him make his decision.


**Title: The Choice  
Summary: Shortly after his stabbing at Weathertop,  
Frodo finds himself wondering if he should hold on to  
his life, or himself slip into darkness. As he  
considers this, he remembers an incident in his past  
that helps him make the decision.  
**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and receive no payment for  
this writing, other than the feedback of its readers.**

Pain. That was the last thing Frodo remembered  
clearly. The terrifying figure of the Witch King  
standing over him, his face dead white and ravished  
by decay had almost paralyzed him with fear. Almost,  
but not quite. Many thoughts flashed through Frodo's  
mind at that moment, but what really struck him was  
what would happen to his friends if he were killed.  
The Nazgul would take the Ring, and then probably go  
after them too. Frodo knew he couldn't let this  
happen.

As the Witch King drew his Mordor knife, Frodo's  
fingers tightened around his sword and he lunged  
forward as the Nazgul struck at his heart. This  
unexpected resistance had no doubt saved him from  
being killed instantly, but Frodo almost regretted  
that as the knife plunged into his shoulder. The  
freezing, burning pain was worse than anything he  
could have imagined and grew worse every second.  
Frodo was certain he could never forget it.  
Amazingly, however, he _did_ seem to be forgetting it. A short  
time after his stabbing, he found himself reflecting  
on the attack with a curious detachment, like a  
nightmare after waking. He had done the right thing  
in resisting the Nazgul, but now that Strider the  
Ranger had driven them off, he felt reasonably certain  
his friends were safe and all he needed to do was hold  
on to his own life.

_Your life is over,_ a voice seemed to whisper in the  
dark. _Give it up now and be at peace for all  
eternity._

Frodo was startled. Was it true? Had the Witch King  
killed him after all? No, he realized somehow that  
his life was still in his own hands. For how long he  
had no idea, but at this point the decision was his.  
It was a strange feeling, having the choice of life  
and death before him. As Frodo considered this, he  
began to get the strangest feeling that this had  
happened to him before. Of course, that was  
impossible. Or was it? At that moment, an incident  
from the past came to his mind. Memories of pain and  
terror, albeit for an important reason, and finally  
the choice between consciousness and shock, leading to  
possible death.

Frodo and Bilbo had just finished preparing for a big  
Yule celebration. They had spend the whole day cooking,  
baking and decorating Bag End, but now everything  
seemed ready for their guests. The holiday roast was  
cooking, the cakes had been frosted and trays of candied  
fruit, cheese, crackers and spreads were prepared, ready  
to be placed on the small tables in the sitting room.

"Would you like me to take these in now?" Frodo asked,  
pointing to the refreshments.

"No, Frodo, you've done enough," Bilbo told him. "You  
can sit down and rest."

Accordingly, Frodo went into the sitting room to rest  
until the first of their visitors arrived. He smiled  
as he looked around; everything seemed perfect. A  
large fire was blazing in the fire place, making the  
room bright and comfortable and a copper top filled  
with tea gleamed on a small wood stove. Sparkling  
peppermint scented candles burned on the mantles, the  
pine boughs that decorated the walls filled the room  
with their fragrance and the bright red and gold  
ribbons they were tied with made the room look very  
festive. There was a knock on the door, however,  
before Frodo had much time to admire everything.  
Smiling, he went out to see the guests.

"Fwodo, Fwodo!" a small voice cried excitedly. Frodo  
looked down and saw a sandy haired hobbit toddler  
running towards him.

"Well hello, Pippin! It's so good to see you again!"  
Frodo exclaimed, scooping Pippin up and giving him a  
kiss and a hug. After Pippin's family had been  
greeted and they all made their way into the sitting  
room, a large box of toys quickly caught Pippin's  
attention.

"You play with me?" Pippin asked, looking eagerly at  
his cousin, then at the toys.

"Maybe later, Pippin, I feel a bit tired right now,"  
Frodo told him, "but if you like I can tell you some  
stories."

"No. I play now," Pippin exclaimed, sliding off  
Frodo's lap and proceeding to toss a big red ball  
around the room.

"He certainly is an active child," Bilbo commented, as  
they watched Pippin's high spirited games.

"You have no idea!" his mother laughed.

Pippin dashed around the room after his ball,  
shrieking with excitement. Unfortunately, his game  
brought him closer to the wood stove before anyone  
realized it. Another toy on the other side of the  
room caught Pippin's attention and because of the  
distraction, he lost his balance and fell forward.

"Pippin! No!" Frodo cried, jumping up and flinging  
himself between his small cousin and hot stove.

Pippin was knocked backwards, out of harm's way but  
Frodo's clothes got singed instantly and then flared  
up. Frodo stared in horrified disbelief as Bilbo  
doused him a large bucket water that was always kept  
as a precaution, even though no one thought it would  
actually be used.

Frodo fell to the ground and saw Pippin out the corner  
of his eye, badly frightened but otherwise  
apparentally unhurt. It was then that he became aware  
of his own injuries. The adrenalin coursing his body  
had temporarily kept him from feeling any pain, but  
the burns on his right side and hip were now becoming  
so painful he thought he would pass out and at the  
same time, he wished he could. He clenched his teeth  
together to keep from screaming as Bilbo carried him  
into a bedroom to tend to him until a healer could be  
found.

Frodo's vision seemed to fade and he began to get  
light-headed when Bilbo laid him on the bed and  
carefully began to cut the burned clothing off him.  
He could hear the sound of herbal tea being prepared  
to ease his pain and he felt Bilbo cover his burns  
with a cool, wet sheet, but somehow it no longer  
seemed real to him. The pain was still there, but  
his reaction to it lessened. He wondered at that time  
if he was going to die. Dying might not be a bad  
thing, he reasoned to himself. The pain would be gone  
for good and he wouldn't relive this awful accident in  
his memory.

As his will to live began to slip, however, he became  
aware of another presence in the room and he heard  
someone crying, faintly at first but now the sound was  
clear and unmistakable. Opening his eyes, he saw  
Pippin, who had slipped in unnoticed and was sitting  
on the bed next to him. Pippin was visibly  
trembling, his face frightening pale with tears  
pouring from his eyes. Frodo's heart nearly broke at  
the sight of this and he realized he had to hold on,  
for Pippin's sake if nothing else. Forcing himself  
to stay awake and smile, he reached up and stroked  
Pippin's face gently.

"Don't cry, Pip," he whispered. "Everything is going  
to be all right."

Fortunately the healer had arrived quickly and treated  
Frodo's injuries to prevent infection and scarring  
didn't become excessive. Frodo thought about this  
every time he looked at his right hip and side. That  
was an awful experience and no mistake, but he would  
do again it in a heartbeat. He didn't dare think what  
would have happened to Pippin otherwise. Would he  
have the strength to resist the Nazgul again, he  
wondered. Yes, he would find it although he had no  
clear idea where it would come from. For now however,  
the question was did he want to live. Yes, Frodo  
decided, he did. He remembered how devastating his  
first injury was to his family and he certainly didn't  
want to put them through that again. Besides, Gandalf  
had him given a job to do. It was his responsibility  
to take the One Ring to Rivendell.

Suddenly, a rush of air filled his lungs making him  
gasp painfully. His eyes shot open. The first thing  
he saw was Strider kneeling beside him with both his  
hands on Frodo's chest. The next thing was Sam and  
Merry falling to knees, their expressions a mixed of  
shock and relief.

"Mr. Frodo! You're alive!" he heard Sam cry.

"Thank goodness!" Merry breathed. "We all thought we  
lost you!"

"What happened?" Frodo asked. This was a lot for his  
mind to process so quickly.

"Your heart stopped for over a minute," Strider told  
him. "I was able to re-start it by breathing for you  
and giving you chest compressions but frankly, that  
very seldom works. This is a miracle, no question  
about it."

"My heart stopped?" Frodo went limp with horror. He  
should be dead, he realized. Then he remembered, he  
had chosen life, and he was glad he as did looked up  
at his friends and saw the joy and relief on their  
faces. As Strider unbuttoned his shirt however, to  
gently check his ribs and see if the compressions had  
damaged them, Frodo noticed something alarming:  
Pippin was no where to be seen.

"Where is... ?" Frodo's eyes darted around anxiously  
looking for him, then he sighed with relief as Strider  
brought Pippin to his side.

"He was off by himself, a short distance from the  
fire," the Ranger explained. "This was all too much  
for him, no doubt."

Pippin was frighteningly pale and visibly trembling  
with tears pouring from his eyes. Frodo seeing this,  
smiled with feeling, reached up and stroked Pippin's  
face gently.

"Don't cry, Pip," he whispered. "Everything is going  
to be all right."


End file.
